The Beach House. Mary Monroe Alice

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      “No. And I forbid you to tell her, hear?”

      “But…”

      “Toy, let me be clear. I don’t want Cara to know. Not yet.”

      “I don’t know why you’re protecting her,” she said with a flare of temper. “She’s supposed to be such a high-powered lady, right? Then she can handle it.”

      “I’m not doing this to protect her. It’s because she is a high-powered lady, as you put it. If I tell her now, all we’ll talk about is the treatment. Besides, she doesn’t seem herself. I’ve more important things I want to discuss with her, and not very much time. If it gets too bad, then yes, I’ll tell her. But I’ll know when the time is right. You’ll have to trust me. And promise me that you won’t tell her.”

      “Okay, I promise,” she agreed reluctantly. “But I don’t think it’s right. If it was me, I’d want to know. You should tell her.”

      “Oh? Have you told your mother when the baby is due?”

      “That’s different,” she replied quickly.

      “Is it? Or are you afraid that she won’t care one way or the other? Toy, honey, I know what that is like. Maybe I’m afraid, too.” She smiled reassuringly and put her hand on Toy’s. “We can only do what we can live with.”

      Toy nodded, chewing her lip.

      “Now I’m dog tired and want to go home to my beach house. Let’s not fret about this any more today. After all, we both have the summer to think about it. And what a summer. Cara is home again! Your little hatchling is coming soon, too! There’s so much good happening. What do you say? Let’s make it a summer to remember.”

      

      The ladies of Primrose Cottage rallied around Palmer’s invitation with an excitement that surprised them all. It had roused them from the lethargy that had hovered in the house. Part of the fun of the day was changing from the usual casual beach attire to something a bit dressy. When Cara stepped into the living room, Lovie stopped tying the rosy silk scarf over her linen dress to stare at her.

      “Aren’t you going to dress for dinner?”

      Cara looked at her new navy sweatpants with the white racing stripe down the sides. She thought it looked rather smart. “I thought I’d wear this.”

      Lovie didn’t speak for a moment. “For dinner?”

      “Mama, we’re going boating.”

      “You look like you’re going to the gym! You can look so smart and you have all those pretty clothes. Why not wear something with a little color? High heels and a smidgen of lipstick go a long way to making a woman feel good about herself. Southern women know this.”

      Cara took a deep breath. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve spent the last twenty years in Chicago.”

      “Caretta Rutledge, you were born a Southern woman and don’t you ever forget it. When you left Charleston, you may have put miles between yourself and your family, lost your accent and gained a couple of degrees and titles, but where does that leave you? Where are you from? Darlin’, you can’t travel enough miles or live enough years to ever lose your heritage. You carry that with you in your blood.”

      “I see. Now I’m in for the steel magnolia lecture?”

      A sparkle of hard-won wisdom flickered in Lovie’s eyes. “I worry about you, Caretta. You are a strong woman, true enough. But strength without flexibility makes one hard. Come September, when those fierce winds blow in from the sea, those hardwoods crack, splinter and fall. But the pliant palms are resilient and they bend with the wind. This is the secret of a Southern woman. Strength, resilience and beauty. We are never hard.”

      Cara closed her eyes and counted to ten. “If I dress for dinner, will you leave me alone?”

      Lovie smiled sweetly and adjusted her scarf. “Why, only dress if you want to, dear.”

      

      Cara changed into her new long, cotton Hawaiian print dress and allowed her dark hair to fall down to her shoulders like a glossy mane. Gold hoops at the ears and brightly colored bangles at her wrist were her only jewelry, and to please her mother, she colored her lips with a glossy red.

      “You look positively exotic,” Lovie said with an approving nod when she emerged a second time from her room.

      Cara had to admit to herself that she felt deliciously at ease in the loose, flowing dress and more in sync with the island mood.

      Toy dressed in a long black skirt and a flowing black jersey top that strained across her middle. She was morosely silent and retiring, reminding Cara of a Japanese puppet master cloaked in black, unnoticed on the stage. Toy was nervous about going to the formal house for dinner and gave a dozen excuses why she should stay behind. But Lovie had been firm that Toy was to join them or she wouldn’t go herself. When Cara tried to object, she was on the receiving end of a stern glance that told her Lovie was well aware of Palmer’s feelings for her companion and she didn’t care a single whit. Remembering her promise, she bit her tongue, then left a friendly message on Palmer’s answering machine to set the table for one more.

      The weather did its best to lift spirits for the outing. Beautiful skies, low humidity and a soft, friendly breeze sent the three women on their way to Charleston. Being a balmy Saturday afternoon, no one was surprised to find the Ben Sawyer Bridge open for a long parade of weekend boat traffic. They took their place in the line of waiting cars and enjoyed the beat of oldies but goodies music pouring out of the open windows of the car ahead.

      “Hey, that song is about your name,” Toy pointed out from the back seat. “Hear? Caretta, Caretta,” she sang along.

      “That’s ‘Corrina, Corrina,’” Cara replied dryly. “Which would have been infinitely more cool than being named after a species of turtle.”

      “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know. It’s an old song. Before my time,” Toy teased, flopping back against the cushions.

      “It was before my time, too,” Cara muttered, trying not to laugh.

      “You should be pleased and proud to be named after the noble loggerheads,” her mother said.

      “I’m only pleased that you didn’t give me the full Latin name Caretta Caretta.”

      “I wanted to but your father wouldn’t let me. Don’t laugh. I’m serious!”

      “Then your middle name would have been Caretta, too?” Toy’s laughter pealed like bells and Cara shook her head, resigned to the fact that, from that moment on, Toy would call her Caretta Caretta just to tease.

      Cara beat the tempo with her fingers on the steering wheel, thinking how easy the mood was between them now where just a few days ago it had been so tense. She and Toy had kept a polite but deliberate distance from one another, rather like two pugilists sizing each other up before the bell. As each day passed, however, Cara couldn’t help but notice how much work the young girl did around the house and her respect grew.

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